


Bad News

by Helen8462



Series: Tumbler Prompts, Challenges and Other Inspired Vignettes [9]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Episode: s04e15 Hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 12:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11253168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helen8462/pseuds/Helen8462
Summary: You never really know how you feel about somebody until they have their hands around your throat.





	Bad News

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt is the first line as provided by MiaCooper. Originally posted to Tumblr. Missing scene from the episode “Hunters,” cause…really? B’Elanna would NOT have been the only one with an issue here.

_You never really know how you feel about somebody until they have their hands around your throat._

This was what Chakotay was thinking, back flat up against the bulkhead, airway compressed, head being rocked and smacked against the hard, grey surface.

And how exactly did he feel about this man?  About this supposed friend and comrade who hadn’t even hesitated at the chance to attack him?  

He felt angry.  And grief-stricken.  And disgusted.

For the man.  For himself.  For them all.

Chakotay’s hands remained down at his sides and part of him hoped that this friend would finish what he had started - grip just a little harder.  Just a little longer….

Ayala stared into eyes that were glassing over, gave one last squeeze and then with a shove, released his grasp.  

“It was….” he began to bite into his hands.  “Your.  Fault.” He slumped to the ground, weak and shaking with the aftermath of spent adrenaline.  

Chakotay gasped for breath, folded at the middle and put his head between his knees.  Stars, like pinpricks, stabbed the back of his eyes.  Slowly, with each breath they began to disappear, restoring his sight.  After a long moment, the deep voice was no longer accompanied by a high-pitched squealing.

“If you hadn’t flown us into the Badlands we never would have ended up here,” Ayala seethed, anger dripping from his voice.  “We would have been home with our families and our friends and… we could have stopped it, Chakotay.  We could have saved them.  But _you_ …”  his final words landed like a boot-kick to the gut and the man didn't need to finish his thought.  

Chakotay stretched his neck from side to side and rubbed at his throat a final time before straightening slightly.  Voice horse, he replied in between heavy breaths.  “If I hadn’t… flown us… into the Badlands… we would have been… captured by Gul Evek.”  He slid down the wall to a seat.  “Or did you _forget_ that part?” 

“I don’t forget,” he replied a little too quickly.

“Ok,” Chakotay continued, his breath steadier now.  “Assume we did get away, exactly what kind of a difference do you think we would have made, Mike?”

“Fuck you,” he spat, droplets landing on Chakotay’s uniform pants.

“I didn’t ask because I’m dismissing you.  I want to know,” his voice grew serious.  “What kind of difference do you think we could have made? Because I keep wracking my brain over it and I can’t come up with a good answer.  Could we have made a difference?  The thirty-one of us?  We were a good cell, but were we that good?”

Ayala didn’t speak.

“I almost like to think that we could have stopped it.  That it really was my fault.  It gives me something to feel guilty about.  Is that what you want Mike?  Something to feel guilty about?”

Heat continued to radiate from the man’s slanted glare.

“If you’re looking to feel guilty, why don’t you put your hands around my neck again and see if killing me will do it for you,” he taunted.  “Or do you want to use your fists instead?”

Ayala closed his eyes and allowed a forced sense of calm to wash over him.  “I…. I’m sorry,” he said through gritted teeth.  “I shouldn’t have attacked you.  I know it's not your fault.”

“You’re damn right you shouldn’t have.  And no, it's not.” Chakotay snapped.  “And if this were any other situation you’d either be knocked out or in the brig.”

Ayala shook his head, a sad smirk appearing over his lips. “Like you could have stopped me.”

Chakotay raised an eyebrow.  “Is that a challenge, Lieutenant?”

“Some other time, yes.  It _definitely_ is, old man.”

Chakotay allowed his head to rest back on the wall.  “Some other time,” he agreed.  The two men sat in silence for a while, then Chakotay spoke again softly.  “We’d be dead too, you know.”

Ayala closed his eyes.  “I know.”

“That’s the hardest part of all of this.”

“Survivor’s guilt?”

“Yes.”  Chakotay’s eyes wandered to the view port and out to inky space.

“Do you think….maybe?”  Ayala asked softly, the slightest bit of hope in his voice.  

“They might have.”

“I didn’t get a letter.”

“A lot of people didn’t.”

“Sveta didn’t list names, did she?”

Chakotay shook his head.

“So maybe….”

He nodded.  “They might be fine, Mike.”

Ayala hung his head.  He wasn't sure which was worse, facing a cold, hard truth or accepting a sliver of hope.  Then he felt a strong hand on each shoulder.  “Your wife and sons might be perfectly fine.  And now they know that you are too.”

He nodded to the floor.

Chakotay removed his hands, gathered his padd from where it had been thrown against the wall, and then he left the room.  

Two down.  Twenty-five to go.


End file.
